Meet Me in the Middle
by Ell Bee Someone Else Now
Summary: Affectionately, Jazz calls his lover "Prowler." How did that name come about? Maybe this way.
1. Chapter 1

The US Civil War (1861-1865) was fought as much for economical as for ethical reasons. The abolition of slavery was actually a side issue; what was fought over was the "sovereign right of the state." Was or was not the state entitled to withdraw from the Union (the United States)? Four years and many deaths later, the answer was "No, the individual states are not."

The economic reasons had to do with slaveholding. Anti-abolitionists (supporters of slavery) did not feel that American cotton could compete with that imported from India if it was not produced by slave labor. And of course, a few of them were just sadistic buttheads who enjoyed having the power of life or death over another human being, and refused to give up what they saw as entitlement.

Petroleum ("rock oil" or bitumen) was first exploited in Pennsylvania in 1859. Once distillation began, the gasoline thus derived was treated as an inconveniently explosive waste product, and poured off. Here, it's used for nefarious purposes.

Not mine, not for profit.

THE_ ARK_, 1860

The Autobots had mostly learned English on the sly, by listening to and recording what people said to one another (or occasionally themselves) on their way through the woods around the _Ark_.

"'Falconer'" is a human name," Bluestreak said. "You could be 'Owler.' It's what they call an agentive suffix put on verb that describes what a human does for money: farmer, thatcher, fisher, hunter, miller, baker - "

"P.R. Owler," interrupted Sideswipe, as that was the only way to get a word in edgewise once Blue's mouth hit cruising speed, and the rec room erupted into laughter.

"All right," Prowl said, a slight smile actually visited his faceplates briefly, before its visa expired and it was deported. "That's me. What about Ironhide?"

"Oh, Ah got one all picked out," said the weapons specialist.

"Let's hear it," said Sideswipe, setting down his empty high-grade cube.

"'Aaron Hyde.'"

Bluestreak giggled all over himself, and even Sunstreaker grinned.

"What's so funny?" said the ancient mech.

THE _NEMESIS_, 1860

The Decepticons had mostly avoided learning English. Jazz was a necessary exception, as his duties took him among the humans often, and it wasn't that much trouble to pick up the language,

"Th' English equivalent of yer own name might be 'Stella Bellows,'" Jazz said, to Starscream.

Skywarp, who'd learned the language out of boredom, giggled all over himself, and the Screamer shot him a sharp glare promising worse later. "And what will _your_ name be, Jazz?" he screeched.

"My name sorta translates to a slave word, 'jazz,'" the saboteur said. "I thought I could be 'Jessie,' but I don' know what ta use as a surname."

"We could share one," Starscream said. "We're traveling together as if we were related; surely it wouldn't be that unusual."

Skywarp grinned, and said, "'Jessie Burr Trawn,'" drawling a bit and shifting the accent around so that it came out "Jazz Cyberton."

"Fer th' love o' Primus," Jazz said, and grinned.

BALD MOUNTAIN, NEAR LEXINGTON, KENTUCKY, FALL 1859

"Ah, Colonel," said Aaron Hyde, turning as Will Lennox' carriage drew up.

Kentucky colonels were given that title as a courtesy, to reflect their position as men of substance in the community. William Thurston Lennox, however, had seen action as a West Point alumnus in Colorado and Arizona, where he became a Colonel in circumstances reflecting both a marked absence of courtesy, and the willingness of those opposed to him to take scalps.

This combative route to being a colonel would be shared by his great-grandson, who also shared his name; that "Will Lennox" didn't have to deal with those who would take his scalp, though, only Scorponok. (Who certainly would have approved of the Apache, had they ever met.)

Hyde was a newcomer to Lexington, having arrived by train and settled into a downtown hotel with his traveling companion, whom he introduced as "mah nephew, Mr. Owler," and a very small quantity of luggage. A tall fellow, one might think him thin until shaking hands with him, whereupon the opinion revised itself toward "spare, but very muscular": and once he opened his mouth, the opinion hastily added "straightforward."

No one could place his origin through his vaguely-Southern accent. The best guess was the Sea Islands of Georgia, simply because Kentucky, in 1859, was isolated from that coastal state, so no one in Will's circle knew what the Sea Island accent sounded like.

Hyde's hair had remained ink-black despite other evidences of advancing years, and he was well though soberly dressed, his trousers, wide-lapel jacket, and tie (a handkerchief knotted around his throat) all as black as his hair, his shirt spotlessly white, and his eyes an intense and piercing blue.

"Mr. Hyde! You've made the acquaintance of our mountain, I see," Will said. He pulled his carriage pair to a stop, and jumped down to shake Hyde's outstretched hand. His team, for some reason, was restless, and he took a moment to tie them securely to a tree. He also wondered briefly where Hyde's transport was.

(Hyde's transport was two mountains away, hunkered down into, he hoped, invisibility, among some tall trees.)

Hyde wore gloves, as he always did. Will thought that perhaps he had scarred his hands, but theirs was a slight acquaintance, and he did not need to know the reason for Hyde's peculiar habits.

"Indeed, Colonel Lennox," said the practitioner of peculiar habits. "Ah believe you said there was water, and a tar-well, near the top? May Ah see them?"

"Certainly, sir." Will lead the way down a trail (which would be called "unimproved" if one felt like being polite) at moderate speed, but found that Hyde kept pace with him easily, despite his age. Further, Hyde had the woodsman's knack of going silently, leaving no broken tree limbs behind himself.

"The well is here," Will said, stopping at a beautiful little limestone cliff no more than twenty feet high, over which poured cool, clear water. "Mr. Jackson, further down the mountain, uses this water to distill his bourbon. If you purchase the land, sir, I cannot sell you the water rights; he owns them. He sees no issue if you use the water to create power, however."

"That's all Ah need it for, Colonel. Nothin' would be poured into it." Hyde knelt, and filled a small jar with the water. "May Ah see the tar site?"

"Certainly, sir," said Will, and led the way.

Hyde once more collected a sample, this one slightly larger, of the oozing black stuff, sitting in a slight declivity like some sort of sunken blackhead. He wiped it clean with a few scarlet and orange and brown fallen leaves before labeling it, and putting it away. Then he asked to see more of the mountain, so Will gave him a walking tour to the summit.

In late September, despite the unseasonable warmth, the trees were beginning to turn color, and nuts and berries of all kinds lay heavy at hand. It was beautiful, if you liked that kind of thing; Mr. Hyde did not mention its beauty, and so Colonel Lennox assumed he did not, in fact, like it. He would have been astounded to learn that Mr. Hyde had not even noticed the organic background to their meeting, beyond the convenience of those fallen leaves.

Will suddenly slapped at a pocket, and extracted two envelopes. "I nearly forgot! Susannah would have my head. We're havin' a ball, Mr. Hyde; my wife and I are recently married. Will you and your nephew give us the pleasure of your company?"

Hyde carefully took the envelopes, one addressed to him, one to "Mr. P. R. Owler," and said, "Newly married? My congratulations, Colonel. I'll make every effort ta clear our schedules. Please thank your wife for askin' us."

"It's our pleasure, sir. Your nephew mentioned that you are a notable shot, but said that he himself is not. Will you join me and some friends on a varmint hunt through my lands?"

A SMALL DELL NOT FAR AWAY, CONCURRENTLY

"So that one's the new fella in town?" The speaker lay belly-down on the leaves, binoculars clasped to his eyes.

"Black-haired guy wearin' black, yeah. Lennox has brown hair, wearin' blue today."

The other man twisted the little wheel at the center of the binoculars. "So it's Lennox we gotta take out. T'other guy don't have nothin' to do with it."

"No. Just doin' business with 'im."

"Don't see why we can't just burn another stable," the man said, handing back the binoculars.

"Mighta done fer Peterson, but not Lennox, not with his Army experience. Better to put him beyond reach, th' damn' abolitionist."

"Bullet solves a lotta problems," said the man who often used them for just that purpose. He offered no opinion on the abolition of slavery because, until this job was complete and he got paid, he didn't have one.

NEWPORT NEWS, VIRGINIA, LATER THAT SAME DAY

Stella Bellows gave the cream vellum a disdainful thwack with her long nails, something not seen often in the nineteenth century, and only among the very, very rich. "These organic - I mean, backwater - fools!" she said, her high discordant voice turning heads in the hotel yard. "Who do they think they are?"

"Oh, Stella, do come along," said the smaller woman accompanying her, in quashing accents.

They said they were cousins, a relationship with a lot of latitude; the two women bore each other no resemblance beyond having eyes of an odd brown, nearly red. The first speaker was tall and beautiful, though her face also spoke of both intelligence and bad temper. The smaller one, though merely comely, was very graceful. She seemed to greet every new person and fresh experience with a smile and the willingness to be amused, which more than compensated for being, as it was then put, "cast into the shade" by her cousin's greater beauty.

Both of them were dressed in the highest of fashion for 1859: complicated and voluminous silk gowns with wide sleeves to balance the famous "hoop skirt," the crinoline, and its frame. Both wore very deep-poked bonnets, and cotton gloves in the summer heat, to protect their complexions from the sun.

The smaller one was clad all in black, with a few white accents: which eccentricity she excused by saying she did not yet feel able to give up her mourning. She never specified for whom she wore the weeds, though she introduced herself as "Jessie Burr Trawn," a name which implied that she either was or had been married.

The taller wore garments mostly of ivory, with red and blue accents, which emphasized her height. She liked a shiny surface; no slubbed silk or unpolished cotton for her. The shorter woman was just as well-groomed, but lacked the other's insistence on calling attention to herself.

The major-domo handed each lady up into the carriage, received the thanks of the smaller one, and was ignored by the taller. He shut the door after them, then waved to the driver.

Odd they weren't travelin' with maids or a baggage carriage, he thought, and then forgot about them entirely as the mail coach rolled in.

The women's coach rattled and bounced over the roads of Virginia, the driver having trouble controlling his team, for some reason. Each team was worked for twenty-five to fifty miles, depending on the road, then changed; oddly enough, every team seemed spooky.

The driver didn't mind. It shortened his journey, if it made it more difficult, and left him free to accept fares back to Virginia that much sooner.

They had an overnight stop just inside the state of Kentucky, and the passengers dismounted, to "refresh themselves," in the euphemism of the time. Stella said to Jessie, as they went to the privy, "What in the world do these beings _do_ in here? It smells like concentrated exhaust!"

Jessie, not wishful of a lengthy lecture on organic disgustingness, said only, "I don't know either, but I do know they all visit pretty regular."

When his timer binged, both emerged, and went into the inn.

They ordered a dinner served in their rooms, and the next morning resumed bouncing and bucketing over the roads of Kentucky. Stella said snappishly, "I really don't see why we must arrive in this backwater _Lexington_ this way! I could take you, and we could be there in moments!"

"This way," said the smaller, not rising to the bait of her "cousin's" tone, "we've got a hist'ry, just like we laid down in Newport News, an' that only took three planetary cycles. We come into town in an unremarkable way, we take rooms at th' hotel, an' we'll meet th' locals at this dinner an' dance we're invited to through that person I met in Virginia. There's nothin' surprisin' about us. We can look around, an' we'll have some idea what we're dealin' with here."

"This is ridiculous! The lack of technology alone — !"

"I'll do it by myself if you wanna go back," said Jessie.

Stella shot her a vicious glare, which seemed to do nothing at all to disconcert Jessie. "No, I can't, and you know that. It's been decided that it's 'important.'" Her voice curdled on the word.

LATER THAT DAY

Aaron Hyde returned to the hotel suite he and his nephew rented. He locked the door behind him, and said, taking off his gloves, "We got invitations to a local party. Oh, and I been invited to go shootin'."

"Oh?" said P. R. Owler, transcribing marks from one map to another; the map showed the locations of all known and a few unknown oil seeps, places where petroleum made its way safely to the surface of the earth. "I suppose it would be wise for us to attend. When and what, or at whom, are you shooting?"

Owler was smaller than Aaron, and gave the impression of great precision coupled with a tightly-coiled watchfulness. He too dressed in black; unusually, he wore a black shirt as well.

"Varmints, tomorrow, with a shotgun," said Hyde, with a grin. "They wanted me to ride a horse while I was doin' that, but I said I gotta bad knee. So me an' the Colonel, that Lennox fella, an' another man, we're gonna get th' hounds out, and go on foot to get us some varmints."

"What," said Mr. Owler, "is a 'hound'? And what's a 'varmint'?"

"A varmint's a pest. Somethin' that eats crops or livestock. Like a Decepticon."

P. R. Owler might nearly have smiled. "Like turbofoxes."

"Exactly like that. They even call some of 'em foxes. A 'hound' is an organic hunter th' humans keep. Works by scent, just like our Hound." Aaron Hyde's voice had become more Southern than it was when he spoke to Colonel Lennox. "We can use th' party ta find out what use, if any, th' locals put th' stuff we're after to. Better if they got no use for it, o'course." Aaron handed Owler his invitation, and the younger man looked at it thoughtfully, then slit the envelope.

"It's a dinner," he said, "and a dance."

"We don't haveta dance. I'll say I'm too old, and you can start limpin' now t'give yerself an excuse. – As fer th' dinner, I'll put a note in with our acceptance sayin' we're travelin' that day, and can't get there in time for th' meal. These folk're sure weird about refuelin' with each other."

"You don't need to decline on my account," said Owler. "I've got the mods to manage that."

"Oh? Why don't you go to 'em both, then, an' I'll show up fer th' dance. You can get a good deal o' information outta th' table talk."

"Very well. Do you want me to deliver our acceptance? I'll be taking the samples past the Lennox property tomorrow."

"Sure," said Aaron Hyde, sat down, and began to compose an acceptance for the dance which encompassed a refusal of the dinner.

Conversation, when electronic means of communication are available, is both clumsy and inaccurate. But human beings talked to one another, and the two did not wish to draw any undue attention to themselves.

Even so, their Hound's name, spoken in Cybertronian, had come out as a metallic screech, coupled with a click. Fortunately, no humans seemed to notice.

WOODS NEAR THE COOMBS, TWO DAYS LATER

Aaron Hyde _liked_ guns. These were somewhat more primitive than even the first he had learned to shoot, several hundreds of millennia ago. Still, the muzzle spat fire and the recoil kicked his shoulder, and when that happened, he felt a surge of joy.

"Karra-baroom!" sang the gun, and hundreds of little lead pellets went more or less where he intended them to; these being unrifled guns, the operative phrase was "more or less." In addition, being handmade, each primitive weapon had its own characteristics, its own oddness; with this one, loaned him by the Kentucky colonel who was not Colonel Lennox, the pellets went slightly left of where the sight said they would. Colonel Lennox' weapon threw a little high and right, he'd told Hyde.

Well, a little. Compared to Hyde's usual weaponry, the things were probably accurate at a range of no more than five feet, but they compensated with a spreading pattern of small lead balls that inflicted quite a lot of damage.

His servant for the day raced out and picked up the dead thing, bringing it back with a wide grin (his own, not the quarry's). Hyde flipped him a local coin, the youngling caught it, said, "Thank you, sir!" and reloaded the weapon, waiting for him to shoot again.

Yes, thought Aaron Hyde, moving through the woods upwind of the varmints, silent as a ghost, this was _fun_.

He had met Mrs. Lennox, and been given a lunch to take with him, as had the Colonels. (Hyde's beater had been happy to eat it for him.) Then they had set off from the house on foot, in search of "varmints."

"Varmints" did not, as Hyde half-expected they might, consist of a single species, but rather several: bright-eyed, noisy gray and red things called "squirrels," which the Colonel said were hard to hit but weren't; "mice" and "rats," resembling tiny vermine (a species from Cybertron that was smaller than the turbofox - he got one of the "rats" with a pistol, and then looked up to see all the others' dropped jaws. Whereupon he thought very fast, grinned, said, "That was a lucky shot!" and everyone relaxed), reddish things that were the "foxes"; something disturbingly like Blaster's symbiont Steeljaw which was called a "cougar" but snarled at them and disappeared far too quickly to get a shot at; and a chittering, impudent creature with a black mask, a ringed tail, and clever little bony hands, called a "racoon." Reminded him of Jazz, his former comrade, for some reason.

Hyde found that he could hit the flying creatures on the wing, as well: two partridges, a pair of doves, a black one called a "crow" that Colonel Lennox said wasn't eaten, but the beater picked up anyway, and a tiny bejeweled thing he had been dared to take a shot at, which dissolved into a shower of iridescent feather-fragments. The tree behind it lost several limbs, and its burden of birds took wing, screaming imprecations.

"What the - what was that?" he'd said to the Lennox species of colonel.

"That was a hummin' bird, sir. I was curious to see if you could hit it."

Hyde had snorted. "With this gun, Colonel, if you aimed at a flea, you'd kill its entire family an' th' elephant it was sittin' on." He couldn't remember where he'd picked up those organic terms, but they seemed about right for the very small thing you shot at, and the very large thing behind it that your shot also made a mess of.

Hyde was always curious to learn about weapons, and watched as his young beater reloaded the gun for him after every shot. Wadding, powder, ball or cartridge; tamp. Hand the gun over, whereupon he needed to sight and fire it.

Inefficient. A very early stage of ballistic weaponry, Hyde realized. And they thought about things very differently here; sulphur and carbon and a salt had relatively low levels of energy to use in giving impetus to the load. Probably because their metallurgical skills couldn't cope with anything better.

They'd learn. Be interestin' to see how much, how fast, in Hyde's opinion.

He could, he realized, begin to hope that this "rock oil" they were assaying would prove to be a source of good energon. He'd like to stay in touch with Colonel Lennox; likeable fella.

Hyde knew he would also purely love to shoot a shotgun, with its expanding load of pellets, in front of a certain airborne enemy's intake, then stand back and watch the fun. Inefficiency and all.

LEXINGTON, DAY BEFORE THE BALL

"Will you look at that," murmured that enemy, stopping in front of a storefront.

The headless dummy in the window sported a lovely dress, a pale green with ivory lace trim, and the paisley shawl draped over one shoulder sported a green that matched it precisely.

Discreet lettering in the bottom of the window proclaimed "Embress."

"Well, scan it," said Jessie Burr Trawn, "an' then let's continue our ramble. I gotta find one too."

Stella Bellows, finished, turned, but they were too late to escape. A small woman, immaculately dressed and with a tape measure draped around her neck, emerged from the shop and bowed to them both. "May I be of assistance?" she said. "The gown would be lovely on Miss."

The dressmaker was looking straight at Stella Bellows, but it was Jessie who replied, "My cousin's need for a ball gown is immediate, Madame Embress. Is this available made-up?"

Madame studied Stella Bellows, and said, "Not, regrettably, in Miss' size. However, I have one in yours."

Stella snapped her fan, scowled, and seethed. Jessie said placidly, "Ah, thank you, Madam, but it appeals to my cousin, and not to me."

Two doors down, at Madame's bitterest rival, Jessie found her own gown. It was in a rather insipid pink, but colors were not a problem.

No, it would be no trouble at all to make the gowns tan, blue, and red for Stella, and black with white accents for Jessie, when next seen in public.

Madame Embress thought of the taller of the two women, lithe and slender enough to really show off her gowns, as "the customer who got away." She never realized what a close escape she had from the terminal experience of attempting to fit a dress to one Miss Stella Bellows.

THE COOMBS, NIGHT OF THE BALL

Susannah Lennox, Will's wife of one month, scanned the great room of the Lennox manse severely, but not even her critical eye could find anything out of place. She moved to the kitchen, a small blond woman who looked remarkably like Sarah Lennox, given the fashions of 1859.

"Minnie?" she said, as she stepped into the huge, hot room, where ovens and spits and a large range were all working, and a roiling mass of cooks, of the spit and pastry and assistant and prep varieties, created a chaos of busy humanity. Like all truly superior head cooks, Minnie herself needed to do very little. She rose from her supervisory chores and curtsied to her mistress, saying, "Ma'am?"

"Things are going well?" Susannah asked, anxiously, fanning herself against the heat.

"Oh, yes ma'am," said Minnie, soothingly. "It's all a-coming along famous."

When Susannah arrived at The Coombs, she had changed very little in the household routines, and made only trifling alterations to the menus. The light hand she used in taking the reins of the household had paid off: the staff were all aware that this party was Susannah's make-or-break as a new-wed hostess, and were just as anxious as she that Susannah, and The Coombs, should succeed.

Even such a staggering social irregularity as elopement was to be forgiven Colonel Lennox' wife, it seemed. No one of substance had declined their invitation, but still, Susannah felt about this party as the later Will Lennox would about his first experience of combat: heart in throat, not scared so much as hyper-alert, and with all available adrenalin hard at work - far too nervous to realize how very tired she was. "The ice cream?"

"Now ma'am, you knows I can't start makin' on that before you-all sets down to eat. But the flavorin's all put together, and it turned out right nice. You stop worryin', ma'am. We won't let you down."

Susannah felt her eyes fill with tears, and blinked them away. "Thank you, Minnie. I shall leave things in your hands, then, and ready myself."

"Yes, ma'am, that's the thing to do," said Minnie, and gave her another curtsy.

"She looks to be in an interestin' way, don't she?" said one of the under cooks, but Minnie snubbed the overture by ignoring it. She did not gossip about her mistress, although she too knew the signs of a pregnancy not long established.

Susannah went through the dining room, also awash with servants, on her way upstairs, and found no fault there, either: the silver was pristine, wines cooling in their ice buckets or standing opened in the butler's pantry, china and crystal immaculate upon a damask tablecloth.

"Ma'am?" said a voice, and Susannah turned to find a housemaid curtsying to her. "Shall I send Leonora to you?"

It was an hour and half to Go Time, the earliest (polite) moment at which she might expect dinner guests. "Yes, please do," Susannah said, and climbed the stairs to her dressing room, off the large bedroom she shared with Will.

Her gown, aired and ironed yesterday, was on a dressmaker's form. Susannah fussed with it for a moment, but it was ready for its last appearance: she was following the custom of wearing her wedding dress once more at the first ball she was hostess to.

She and Will were both firmly pro-abolition; she had invited no anti-abolitionists to dine or dance tonight. Therefore she would not see her dinner become a debate, her ball a brawl, as had happened to other hostesses in Lexington.

She was actually more worried that, having accepted her invitation, the very straitlaced would not attend after all. She and Will had eloped: a rather staggering social irregularity.

Leonora arrived and said, "Ma'am? How was you wantin' to wear your hair tonight?"

All of Susannah's other concerns were swept away by the curling tongs and the spirit lamp, and the chance to sit down for an hour.


	2. Chapter 2

THE COOMBS, NEAR FIELD HANDS' QUARTERS, AS DINNER GUESTS ARRIVE

"Can't quite get him in mah sights by hisself," said the man who had used binoculars to identify Colonel Lennox on Bald Mountain."

"No matter," said the other man. "We got all night. You get the right shot, take it. Don't get one, don't bother."

"Yeah."

"You sure come prepared good."

"No way to know how long it's gonna take," said the other, and delved into his field pack, retrieving bottled refreshment. Some of it was water, and the bottle he opened first may have started its life as such, but along the way grain had been distilled in it.

He drank, wiped the mouth of the bottle, passed it to his companion.

Who said, "Ain't gonna affect yer aim, now, is it?"

The shooter only snorted for answer.

The Coombs' field hands did not overhear this exchange, or else they would have reported it. In a small glade about fifty yards away, they were out of sight of the lighted windows of the house, but within earshot of the music, having a dance of their own, if secondhand, as it were. A harmonica player provided lilting blues alone now, and would counterpoint to the white folks' music in the Big House later. Even in 1859, it didn't mean a thing if it didn't have that swing.

Between themselves and the big house, the wellhead for the servants' quarters blocked direct observation of the sniper and his henchman.

The two snipers were thus, ah, well-hidden, and only about fifty feet from the good cover in which their horses were tied. They expected to remove one of Lexington's most prominent abolitionists from the picture without trouble, certainly without being suspected or apprehended, thus snapping the conduit to freedom he kept open through his lands.

One stop on the Underground Railway, closed forever with the ending of a life: a small price to pay, in an anti-abolitionist's view.

THE COOMBS, BEFORE CLEARING THE LAST COURSE OF THE FORMAL DINNER

Susannah Lennox surveyed her first formal table and thought that it had all gone fairly well. She drew the first deep breath she had taken all day.

Mr. Hyde, whom she had met before and knew to be perfectly charming, would arrive in time for the ball, but could not be here for the dinner. Of the strangers to Susannah, Miss Stella Bellows and her cousin Miss Jessie Burr Trawn (what very odd names those two had), friends of a dear friend in Virginia, had proven in the first case to be annoying, and in the second quite amusing. Mr. Hyde's nephew, Mr. Owler, seemed to be taken with Miss Trawn.

She caught her husband's eye, and he nodded to her. Susannah swept the table with her own glance, rose, and said (feeling rather like a small girl playing that she was the Queen), "Ladies, shall we give the gentlemen a few moments with their brandy?"

She waited until all of them were standing (predictably, that Bellows wench was last), and led the way into the parlor.

Will watched her leave, and then turned to the man to his left, saying, "Beg your pardon, Colonel?"

"Shame about Peterson losin' his bloodstock like that, ain't it?"

"I've heard nothin' about it," Will replied. "What happened?"

The other colonel looked disturbed. "Someone set a fire in his stable. Didn't burn it down, didn't actually do much damage, but the stableboys and all his stabled horses died, apparently from inhalin' somethin' burnin' petroleum gives off."

"Not the distilled tar? That burns pretty nice, without much smell."

"No, the part of the distillate that's usually discarded. Mixed it with the beddin' sawdust, and lit 'er up."

Young Mr. Hyde, a snifter of brandy cradled in one hand, said, "Is heating the only use that's been found for tar, sir? They were beginning to experiment with it in Europe, before I left there."

"It's a fine way to waterproof a basket, or a small boat." The speaker paused to light a cigar.

One of the other men added, "Some around here distill it, and use the distillation for medicine. Kills fleas, treats skin conditions." He paused. "O' course, if you have occasion to tar and feather a fella, you don't use that."

"Oh? Why not?"

Dr. Harper, one of Lexington's foremost physicians, snorted. "Tarrin' and featherin' is meant to warn a fella. You use pine tar for it, 'cause it'll stick without bein' heated. If you used the bitumen, it'd burn a man's skin plumb off him. He'd die in agony three days later."

"Shame about Peterson's horses, though," said another man. "I was gonna buy a yearlin' off him."

"I'd get over there if I were you," Dr. Harper said, and extinguished his cigar. "He was sayin' he lost the breedin' stock, didn't say much about his yearlin's, so he might coulda kept them out to pasture."

There came discordant noises of musicians tuning up, and this truncated the talk of horses, carried out in much the same way modern men talk of cars.

Will stood. "Gentlemen, I think it's gettin' on time to join the ladies."

THE COOMBS' BALLROOM: ON WITH THE MOTLEY

The musicians consisted of guitar, cornet, and fiddle. A bit rustic, to be sure, but Susannah hadn't wanted to give space to a larger orchestra, and a trio was sufficient to propel the dancers around the room.

She and Will lead the first set, a country dance. Men and women stood in long lines facing one another, meeting together or sequentially in the middle to lock elbows and twirl, or circle one another back-to-back in a dosie-do (the French for "back to back" is _dos á dos_, pronounced "dose-ah-do,"), and then separating to return to their lines.

Susannah, as _de facto_ chaperone for all the single women present, kept an eye on the younger ladies. The two Virginians sat out the first dances, pleading fatigue, but Susannah found to her relief that the Bellows woman could in fact dance a quadrille, while Miss Trawn took young Mr. Hyde as her partner. He too had not danced the first quadrille; Susannah would have been astounded both by the feat and by the need for it had she known that all three chose not to dance in order to watch others do so, and thereby learn the steps.

Mr. Owler delighted Susannah Lennox by approaching her to enquire if he might ask Miss Trawn for the waltz about to strike up, but her permission given, his uncle arrived at that moment.

Susannah was amused by her guest's predicament. "I shall give you permission to dance the next waltz with Miss Trawn, if you will, Mr. Owler," she said with a smile. To her shock, he picked up her hand and kissed it, then went to his uncle.

Will drifted to her side. "Have I a rival, my dear?"

"No," Susannah said to her handsome husband, her dimples appearing. "You kiss my hand better than Mr. Owler does."

Will laughed.

Whatever the news that the elder Mr. Hyde brought, the newlyweds saw him shake his head in delivering it, although it seemed to make no difference to his nephew's composure. He read the proffered note, folded it into quarters, placing the paper in his waistcoat pocket as he said something of which they heard only "requires several extra distillations to adequately fractionate." Then he made his way back to Miss Trawn.

Will made his leisurely way to the side of Mr. Aaron Hyde, who appeared to be exchanging glares with Miss Bellows that might have set an unwary passer-by afire. "Ah, Mr. Hyde. Will you come and have a glass of brandy with me, sir? I am sure you could easily deal with some refreshment, having just arrived."

Mr. Hyde broke his glance, and the wallpaper behind Miss Bellows stopped smoldering. "Colonel, Ah would entirely appreciate it," said Hyde, and followed him to his study.

Will poured them both a brandy in silence, and remarked to himself that Mr. Hyde seemed much more forceful this night than he had at any meeting beforehand. In his experience, that meant that Will would most likely be disappointed in his desire to be rid of eighty-seven acres of mountain.

Mr. Hyde, being unaware of this speculation on his part, did not inform him that such forcefulness was a result of his holoform generator and thus also his root-mode self being nearby.

"Are you acquainted with Miss Stella Bellows, Mr. Hyde?"

Hyde considered his response, had some more brandy, and settled for saying, "Our families have a long-standing enmity with one another, Colonel."

"I do apologize, sir," said Will, refilling Hyde's snifter. "Miss Bellows is a friend of a friend of my wife's. I assure you, had I known ..."

Hyde shrugged. "It would have surprised me immeasurably if you had known, Colonel. Please, accept mah apologies for bringin' my feud to your party. Ah'll do my best to avoid the wench."

Will was not the only one who noticed the forcefulness of proximity, however. Jessie tapped Mr. Owler's arm with her fan, and said, "Mr. Owler, you seem to have come into your own this evenin'."

Miss Bellows snorted (inelegant in such a well-turned out lady) and turned her head away.

Mr. Owler's attention was caught by the small ring Jessie wore, which had remained unremarkable while she fanned herself. Now, though, the angle of the light was right, and the hand still, long enough for identification. "Your ring, Miss Trawn, may I see it?" he said.

She hesitated, and then laid her hand in his. The ring was what he thought it was, a cameo made in the Decepticon icon.

His own waistcoat, mostly hidden by his jacket, was printed in Autobot sigils.

The two stared at each other.

If Prowl was the first to recover himself, it was Jazz who said, "Perhaps we could have a walk in the garden, sir?" and flirted her fan at him, in a gesture unmistakable to every other woman in the room (except perhaps Stella Bellows, who was again busy glaring at Aaron Hyde. The wallpaper behind her was not faring at all well).

"Perhaps we should," Prowl said, and politely offered his arm.

They went out of the light and into the walks and lanes in the garden around the house, finally stopping just next to the two snipers.

"Your interest here is?" Prowl said.

"Same's yours, prob'ly. Seein' if the black stuff comes outta th' ground might be a source of energon." The saboteur hesitated. "Look. That ain't really my main concern at th' moment. You and I been gettin' along like a house afire since the moment we met. What're we gonna do about that?"

Prowl wrinkled his faceplates, and the holoform's corresponding brow crinkled too. "What does a burning residence have to do with it?"

"It's a local expression. It just means we get along together pretty good."

The snipers' horses began to whinny and stamp, and so did the occupants of The Coombs' barn: Will's and Susannah's personal mounts, their carriage team, the two stallions, and all of the guests' mounts and carriage teams. Horses were unacquainted with, and therefore frightened by, beings powered by internal-combustion engines.

"We're on the opposite sides in a war. We can't do anything about it that isn't treasonous," said one of the reasons for the animals' alarm. "Your designation's Jazz?"

"Yeah. You're Prowl?"

"Yes. We're enemy soldiers, Jazz. We can't do anything about it."

"You could get the fuck outta my range," the sniper whispered.

Both holoforms turned to stare into the bushes, and the sniper, who had emptied the bottle of Mr. Jameson's Royal Scotch Whisky and begun on the first of two bottles of Mr. Jackson's Not-Even-Illegitimately-Royal Bourbon, stood up and said, "You two get on back to th' house now. You keep your mouths shut 'bout seein' us, else what befell ol' Peterson, in town? It'll happen to y'all."

"Is that so," Prowl said, and commed Hyde.

"Yes, sir, it purely is."

In the house, Aaron Hyde, sent for two shotguns because of the horses' noise, sought a dark corner, so that he could flicker unobserved, and in root mode stood up, perhaps twenty-five feet from the men's sniping stand. Their horses went crazy, and The Coombs barn erupted into the equine equivalent of rumor, gossip, panic, and several of the less reputable CNN commentators.

Ironhide bent down from his twenty-six foot height and snatched up the sniper, who immediately had a childish accident. The giant being, however, did not let this interrupt his plans.

"Get out," Ironhide said, his voice calm and level. "Pack up yer stuff, and go. Don't come back. Colonel Lennox's got powerful friends, you hear? You tell whoever sent you he's off limits. Don't forget it." He set the man back down. "'N by the way, you stink."

There was a scurry in the brush, a thunder of hoofbeats, and a diminishing odor of privy. Ironhide sat back down; his holoform steadied, leaped down the staircase, and reached the Colonel just as he opened the door. Will Lennox said, "Mr. Owler? Miss Trawn? Are you all right?"

"We're fine, Colonel," Mr. Owler said. "Do you have lynx in this area, or perhaps cougar? We saw nothing, but we heard the horses."

"We're too far south for lynx, but we do have the occasional cougar," Will said, coming down the steps. "Mr. Owler, will you escort Miss Trawn back to the house? Your uncle and I will look into the barn, just to check things out." Behind him, bearing two shotguns, Hyde nodded, and commed Prowl, ::_Back in a bit. Gotta wash my servos after pickin' up that fella. Organics're disgustin' creatures. You bringin' that one with us, or not?_::

Prowl offered Jazz his arm as the other two moved off. "Miss Trawn," he said, as they walked back into The Coombs, "would you consider accompanying me when the party ends tonight?"

"I'll haveta somehow figger out how ta ditch my cousin," the belle replied.

Owler pulled out the map his "uncle" had given him. "I have a plan," he said, and had he been human, would have been dazzled by the smile Miss Trawn turned on him. He was anyway, for other reasons.

LEXINGTON, 1 AM, A SMALL DIRTY INN ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF TOWN

The sniper planned ahead, and planned for disaster. That's why the sniper's bag had included a change of clothing. If you are pursued and captured, and you are wearing the garb witnesses describe, you have an almost insurmountable lot of explaining to do.

He was a hardy soul, and the trial of bathing in a stream in the middle of the night had entirely failed to intimidate him.

His boots were wet, soaked through with water in the effort to remove the residue of a previous soaking. His saddle seat was wet. Even his horse had needed a bath.

Given all that, his companion thought, he was remarkably composed. He had rubbed his horse down before stabling it, then come here, downed about half of his first beer, and eaten a sausage, some bread, and a pickle. Now he lit his pipe.

"What are we gonna tell our employers?" said the henchman. He pushed his beer away. He was a rather limited fellow, and seeing that - thing - had not broadened his scope.

"What that thing told us. You did see it too, did you not?"

The henchman shuddered. "Ah purely did."

"It said," the sniper mused, "that Colonel Lennox had protection, and that he was not to be harmed. I think that's information that our employers need. Don't you?"

They needed it, but did not want it: and to prevent its spread, they attempted to have the sniper and the henchman killed. The henchman had not sufficient wit to prevent this, but he corroborated the sniper's story to more than a few people before his wit failed him.

The sniper did have the wit to be the shooter instead of the shootee, and told his story to quite a few of his cronies. His former employers were subsequently unable to interest anyone in taking the contract they put on Colonel Lennox.

THE COOMBS, LAST MUSICIANS' BREAK, 1:30 AM

Miss Jessie Burr Trawn followed her cousin Miss Stella Bellows to the ladies' retiring room, and there they saw to each others' hair and skirts until they were alone. Then Jessie fished a folded paper out of her sleeve, just as Stella said, "That Ironhide! What's _he_ doing here?"

"This's the research him and t'other one have been doin' on findin' energon in this area," Jessie said, handing it to her cousin.

Stella unfolded it, scanned the information, refolded it, and put it into her reticule. "Why did he give you this?"

"He didn't," Jessie said, and flirted her fan. Which was perfectly true; Mr. Owler had made some changes in a copy, and left that particular piece of paper on a table next to Jessie' chair.

Hadn't actually _given_ it to Jessie. Jessie purely liked the smart ones ...

Stella gave her a Look, and said, inspecting the data, "Megatron's going to want this as soon as we can get it to him."

"Gimme ten minutes," Jessie said. "I'll disappear, and you can get so upset that nothin' will do but that you get back to th' hotel. Leave from there."

Stella snorted. "It wouldn't make any difference if we burned this place to the ground on the way out. They've got no weapons that can stand against us."

"Our orders're to stay undercover. You're gonna do as you're told, since I'm th' senior operative here."

The door closed behind Jessie as the musicians struck up for the last time. Stella Bellows took the paper out of her reticule, unfolded it, read it closely once more, and replaced it before following her cousin out into the ballroom.

THE COOMBS, LAST WALTZ, A FEW MINUTES LATER

"Miss Trawn?" said Aaron Hyde, appearing at Jessie' side a few moments later. "I cannot dance, but would you give me the honor of a walk in the gardens?"

"With pleasure, Mr. Hyde," said Jessie, laying her fingers on his arm, and they went out into the warm, sweet-smelling night together.

Once out of sight of anyone looking out the windows, both vanished; two Cybertronians sat down in the deep woods almost halfway up Bald Mountain and eyed each other thoughtfully.

It was Ironhide who broke the silence first. "Guess I owe ya thanks for plantin' that faked-up information where it will do the most good."

Jazz shrugged. "Gets the Screamer back to the _Nemesis_. When's Prowl gonna join us?"

"A few more minutes. He said it would be 'in character' if he joined in the hunt for Miss Trawn." The taller, older Autobot looked down at the smaller Decepticon, and snorted, "'Jessie Burr Trawn.' 'Jazz Cybertron'? Oughta be ashamed o' yourself." His grin belied this.

"'S no worse'n 'Aaron Hyde.' Or, fer that matter, 'Stella Bellows."

Ironhide considered. "I don't think there's anythin' quite as bad as 'P.R. Owler.'"

Jazz snickered. "No, that one takes a lotta beatin'."

At The Coombs, that very same P. R. Owler stepped outside the house, and called, "Miss Trawn? Uncle?" Getting no reply, he began to search the area.

Ironhide grinned at "Jessie." "So it does," he said, and unsubspaced two cubes of energon. "Here's to th' beginnin' of what might be a beautiful partnership. So why're you joinin' us, anyway? 'S not just fer love, izzit?"

Colonel Lennox joined the search, along with several other men. Stella Bellows stood on the porch, wringing her hands and expostulating.

Jazz touched the cube to Ironhide's, and sipped. "Nah. Things ain't been right in th' ranks fer a long time. Megatron ain't got an army, he's got hisself, and a buncha people he's got terrified into obeyin' him. Even Screamer - Screamer'll tell you he and his trine joined up when th' Decepticons were the only force keepin' th' Senate in check. But th' Prime stood up to 'em eventually, a long time back. I considered leavin' then, but it wouldna been easy on Cybertron. I'd'a been a target once I left, an' useless ta your side because of it. And what can a saboteur do, if he ain't on one side or t'other?"

"Good point," Hyde grunted.

Jazz continued, "Now, on this planet, there's no reason ta stay with th' red-eyes." He smiled as "P. R. Owler" ran out of the house with a lantern, and went into the barn, emerging some minutes later in a small thing that looked like a two-wheeled carriage pulled at a fast gait that might have passed for the trot of a single thing that looked like a horse. Somewhat. The number and sequence of legs were never entirely clear; and Prowl hadn't remembered to make the carriage wheels turn. (It was his first try at an organic alt-mode. Fortunately, the milieu in which he attempted it was not conducive to optimal visual clarity for humans: it was dark out.)

Jazz continued, "No reason anymore ta stay, an' a lotta reasons to leave. Not only is Megatron a disaster as a leader, I never felt about anybody th' way I feel about Prowl." He grinned at Ironhide. "So it ain't just fer love, no. But that's a big part of it."

Ironhide, much more romantic than anyone but Chromia would have given him credit for, nodded.

Colonel Lennox' footman, going into the barn, roused the hired driver and footman, and they got Miss Bellows' carriage ready. The Colonel handed her up into it.

Will and Susannah, forgiving people, thought nothing of Miss Stella Bellows' rudeness: she did not thank them for her invitation, or say it had been a nice ball, but then, she had other things on her mind.

They might have been amazed to know exactly what things.

When it stopped at her hotel in Lexington, the footman opened the door of the carriage to assist her down. He was astonished to find the carriage entirely empty. (Screamer was not good at taking orders, and could see no real reason to delay leaving.)

The sheriff, summoned from his bed, yawned widely, and said he would investigate it in th' mornin'. He took the addresses of the footman and driver, said he was returnin' to his bed, an' in th' meantime, th' driver an' th' footman weren't goin' nowhere, you hear? An' if they did, they'd tell the sher'ff about it first.

In the woods near The Coombs, while all this human activity went on, there was a long silence that neither of the Cybertronians felt impelled to break.

P. R. Owler shouted "Miss Trawn!" at odd intervals from various places. (The organic alt-mode was a pain, and there was no one nearby to see, anyway.) When the lantern gutted out, he returned to The Coombs.

"Mr. Owler?" said Colonel Lennox, coming out to greet him. "Is Miss Trawn safe?"

"I regret to say," Mr. Owler replied, "that she has disappeared entirely. I can only assume that my uncle has abducted her. My deepest apologies, Colonel. I had no idea he was that kind of man." He had struck the Colonel as a pale young man when they first met, but now he was absolutely white.

"Please," Susannah said, coming to stand beside her husband, "come into the house and take some refreshment before you set off for your hotel, Mr. Owler. This is very bad, it's true, but it cannot be helped by making yourself ill."

"I thank you, Mrs. Lennox, but I feel I should await my uncle there. Naturally I wish to speak to him at the very first opportunity. He has a great deal of explaining to do, and I may find myself obligated to call him out." Mr. Owler bowed over her hand, and shook the Colonel's. "Thank you for inviting me," he said, and added truthfully, "It was a very interesting party, and I am much gratified to have come."

Mr. Owler did not get to the rendevous point in root mode quite in time to hear Ironhide say, "What'll ya do if it don't work out between ya?"

Nor was he there in time to hear Jazz reply, "Same thing I was doin' before. I can't support Megatron anymore, an' if we find that me and Prowl don't suit each other, I'll be happy ta work with th' Prime's forces. Like I said, I ain't defectin' only fer love, if that's what you're askin'."

No, Prowl missed that. But he was a practical sort who would not have been dismayed by it.

EPILOGUE

The Lennoxes never did hear what became of Miss Bellows after she went missing. Nor did they hear of the eventual fate, worse than death or otherwise, of Miss Trawn; they also never heard whether Mr. P. R. Owler found his uncle, and what eventuated thereafter if he did. Just as well, perhaps.

The Colonel never forgot that first ball, as Susannah's composure throughout helped him to rise in the ranks of Lexington society. He re-enlisted in the Union Army with the outbreak of war, and was a Major General by its end.

Susannah, mother eventually of all six of Will's children, did not sail the matrimonial seas again after he preceded her in death. She had several offers, remarkable for a woman in her sixties, but remarked to a friend that her experience with Will had been so sublime she had no confidence it could be improved upon, or even repeated.

Ironhide never did get a chance to fire a shotgun-load's worth of pellets into Starscream's intakes; he brought the subject up to Wheeljack, but the unrifled-barrel weapon wasn't sufficiently technological to pique Jack's interest. Even the kind of nagging only Ironhide could do (which involved putting one servo on the wall by the inventor's head, learning close, charging his shoulder cannon, and asking anxiously how it was goin' with that pellet-discharge weapon, Jack?) failed to provide the inventor with any motivation, and eventually Ironhide himself lost interest.

Jazz never did have to figure out what he would do if his love affair with P. R. Owler didn't work out, because it did: and rather spectacularly well, at that.


End file.
